


Beloved

by 8ball



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Finding a Family, Fluff, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love for the vinsmoke family, happy birthday sanji, pining zoro, soft zosan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22990990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8ball/pseuds/8ball
Summary: He gives the ocean midnight gifts of violet, cobalt, and periwinkle. He watches moonlit peonies float and then sink, surrounded by the haunting of single daisies. Gardenias stare accusingly up at him, and he wishes he could save them, place them on a table, but what excuse could he give for finding flowers in the middle of the ocean? He lingers over the delicate lilacs, the tiny sweetpeas. He keeps a single forget-me-not in his pocket.Beautiful, he thinks as he gathers his nightly bouquets. Beautiful, he thinks as he pants heavily, kneeling on the tiled floor. It hurts, but he cannot fault beauty for being beauty.He can only fault himself for wanting love from a loveless family.
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji, ZoSan
Comments: 77
Kudos: 610





	1. Forget-me-nots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (The thing is- it's a rare disease. It's so rare it's half fictional, and medical history barely covers it. Some people think it's connected to devil fruits. There's a passage on it in one of the health books, but it's barely a paragraph.   
> Hanahaki disease: Born of unrequited love. Plant growth in lungs. Death by asphyxiation.  
> Sanji carefully puts the book back, feeling the physical ache of something blooming inside his body where things are not meant to grow.   
> Known cure: Love returned, or surgical removal.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some flowers I used and their meaning: (Note that all the flowers have multiple meanings and I just chose the ones they stand for in this particular circumstance)  
> Lilacs for youthful innocence   
> Gardenias for purity and sweetness   
> Pink camellias for longing   
> Pink carnations for remembrance   
> Daisy and dandelions for innocence and faithfulness   
> Geranium for folly   
> Heather for solitude   
> Holly for defence   
> Orange lily for hatred  
> Marigold for cruelty   
> Peony for shame   
> Petunia for resentment   
> Poppy the desire for eternal sleep  
> Primrose I can't live without you  
> Sweet-pea for goodbye

-oOo-

  
  
  


He doesn't notice the pain in his chest until much later, after he’s finally stopped crying long enough to settle. They gave him a change of clothes and a bed and told him  _ this is the Orbit, and you are welcome here _ , and he sobbed himself into an exhausted sleep. But for the first time ever he wakes up and isn't forced to nurse fresh wounds, doesn’t have to struggle lifting his own head. Without the helmet he feels like he can see everything again, and he pulls on his hair until full strands come out, just because he can. 

The pain that burns in his chest and up his throat is worrying, but he’s hurt for so long that it just doesn't matter. He closes his eyes, trying to breathe.

_ Never call me your father. _

His throat burns and he coughs hard, curling into himself. Sanji ignores the ache, the tears, the memory, and falls back into a trembling sleep. 

-oOo-

The work soothes him. Sanji learns that keeping busy is the best distraction, and he’s allowed to watch the chefs work whenever he’s free. He learns basic skills. He learns how to curse. He learns the difference between saffron and turmeric and how to hold a spatula. 

He is careful to hide his coughing fits. He washes his hands until the skin around his knuckles turns bright red, and he asks for extra honey in his tea when it's offered. He tries not to think about Reiju breaking the bars, about his brothers laughing at him. He doesn't know if it's better or worse to remember how soft his mother’s hands were. 

He wakes up three days later in the middle of the night, almost unable to breathe. 

He stumbles as noiselessly as he can to the bathroom, heart hammering in his ears as he clutches the side of the sink and tries to inhale. There's something in his throat, or- he doesn't  _ know  _ but he just can't  _ breathe _ . He coughs up something, but without the clench of his stomach and the acid in his throat his body doesn't know what to do. So he opens his mouth and hacks, repeating strings of curses in his head. 

When he steps back, trembling, there's something in the sink. Shakily, he touches the dark things with his fingers, recoiling at the first brush of contact. He drags a hand to his mouth, panic beginning to rise in his chest. 

A tiny blue petal clung to his bottom lip.

-oOo-

(The thing is- it's a rare disease. It's so rare it's half fictional, and medical history barely covers it. Some people think it's connected to devil fruits. There's a passage on it in one of the health books, but it's barely a paragraph. 

_ Hanahaki disease: Born of unrequited love. Plant growth in lungs. Death by asphyxiation. _

Sanji carefully puts the book back, feeling the physical ache of something blooming inside his body where things are not meant to grow. 

_ Known cure: Love returned, or surgical removal. _ )

-oOo-

He manages. He inspects his clothes meticulously, removing unwanted greenery and pollen stains. He gives the ocean midnight gifts of violet, cobalt, and periwinkle. He watches moonlit peonies float and then sink, surrounded by the haunting of single daisies. Gardenias stare accusingly up at him, and he wishes he could save them, place them on a table, but what excuse could he give for finding flowers in the middle of the ocean? He lingers over the delicate lilacs, the tiny sweetpeas. He keeps a single forget-me-not in his pocket.

_ Beautiful, _ he thinks as he gathers his nightly bouquets.  _ Beautiful _ , he thinks as he pants heavily, kneeling on the tiled floor. It hurts, but he cannot fault beauty for being beauty. 

He can only fault himself for wanting love from a loveless family. 

-oOo-

It stops when he begins to starve, withering away on the rock. Maybe his body knows he is dying so the flowers stop growing, or maybe he can't bring himself to think about his father, his siblings, his long dead mother- not with hunger at the front of his mind and screaming in his ears. He wants to laugh, because it's pathetic. Children don't get the disease, they’re not supposed to be able to. But children also aren't supposed to run away from home, or stand up to pirates, or starve to death on a rock. 

Later, watching the IV drip in the medical bay, he feels the familiar burn in his throat, but swallows it down. He looks over at Zeff, legs covered in clean, white bandages. There are things blooming inside of him, but he’s alive and they’re proof of that. 

-oOo-

Smoking helps. Zeff gives him shit for it but it burns up the leaves, wilts the petals, tints his lungs black and inhospitable. It takes twice as long for anything to grow there now, and the flowers that come out of his mouth are long dead this time. It’s sad, because they were always pretty and sweet, but he isn't willing to die just so they can thrive. 

He could get the surgery. His case is odd, but he can always lie, say he fell in love with some made-up person despite how young he is. No one has to know about siblings born  _ incapable _ of giving him any love, and a father who never had any to begin with. Still. 

He imagines his mother's smile, how she had touched his head so gently. He wants her smile, on his father's face, and he wants his brothers laughter without the coming punch. He wants Reiju without her coldness. He wants what he can't have, he  _ knows _ this, but-

If he carries his love for them, maybe one day, maybe one day.

-oOo-

Years of growth accumulate to gardens. The blooms have lessened under his time with Zeff, something having filled in a space that was previously cracked. When flora bursts in his organs it comes with a faded type of pain, like that of an old injury. He identifies the ones he’s hacked up, sometimes in full stems. Holly is by far the worst, scratching the inside of his esophagus and making his tongue bleed on the rare occasion. Camellias are the gentlest, soft as silk as he retches them into sinks and buckets and toilet bowls. Heather tickles and itches, sticking to the roof of his mouth and getting stuck in his teeth. He’s coughed up entire fields of dandelions, and he’s seen every type of lily ten times over. 

An hour after flushing geraniums down the toilet there is a boy breaking down walls and stealing food. An hour after that, Sanji realizes that talking to Luffy, for whatever reason, eases the ache in his chest to a near nothing. By the end of the day there is something blooming in him, but for maybe the first time ever, it doesn't hurt.


	2. Sunflowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He imagines choking on flowers for Luffy, how gentle it would probably feel compared to his current state. He thinks of sunflowers and crocuses, maybe a big black-eyed-susan. Bright, sweet flowers that are found laughing in summer breezes.

-oOo-

  
  
  


He cooks for his new crew. He lets Luffy hang on him, begging like a child. He’s worried that he finds it endearing. He makes Usopp lemonade and Nami tea. He calculates how much extra protein Zoro should get. He is falling in love with living with them, and it scares him. 

He smokes, coughing up the occasional burnt primrose. Somehow the plants have slowed and there's room in his lungs for the first time in years. 

  
  


-oOo-

Chopper catches on right away, cornering him in his gentle, serious way. 

“I’m sure you know this, but there's surgery- 

“I know.” he interupts. “But I don't want it.”

Chopper looks at him for a while, fiddling with his stethoscope. Sanji thinks about cherry blossoms, pink and sweet and fleeting. He’s never grown them before, but the love in his body has never meant anything soft and quick. He remembers the frequency that he spits out marigolds and peonies, a fixed collage of cruelty and shame. 

“And-” Chopper begins nervously, “What about the other cure?”

Sanji sighs. Sometimes he thinks he can hear the sound of leaves rustling coming from his own breath. He’s not quite sure how to explain how incurable he is. If he told his story he’s sure the response would be insistence on the surgery, to remove what is so clearly undesired by everyone. That's the shame of the disease though, the truth of it; a physical proof of un-love. A desire to be loved that is so visceral that a lack of reciprocation is essentially a death sentence. And his own source of such a disease being his own blood relations- he’s sure it paints a very ugly picture. The pathetically unwanted child, left to be swallowed by greenery. 

Sanji just shakes his head. To Chopper’s credit, he doesn't ask anymore questions. Instead he gives Sanji a few different things- powders he can mix in his morning tea that might help kill the plants. 

“I don't want the rest of the crew to know.”

Chopper looks like he wants to argue that, but he doesn't. Sanji can only be grateful. 

  
  


-oOo-

There is something about loving Luffy that makes Sanji’s time with him feel like a privilege, somehow undeserved but at the same time, deserved. He finds himself clinging to his captain’s presence like a child wanting the comfort of a familiar toy. He can breathe when he’s with Luffy, breathe especially when he’s surrounded by all his nakama, but the  _ warmth _ of Luffy astounds Sanji. He can feel the flowers in his lungs physically turn towards the brightness in Luffy’s smile, as if somehow it will give them the sunlight they’ll never get. He imagines choking on flowers for Luffy, how gentle it would probably feel compared to his current state. He thinks of sunflowers and crocuses, maybe a big black-eyed-susan. Bright, sweet flowers that are found laughing in summer breezes. Of course he can't really imagine anyone choking on flowers for Luffy, because Luffy wouldn't accept that, and besides, Luffy was one to love easily.    
And Sanji basks in his attention, hoping he doesn't come off as desperate. He takes Luffy’s hand in his, holding it long after Luffy has stopped grabbing at the uncooked pork. He drags the captain out of the ocean, cursing him all ways to hell even as he tenderly brushes the black hair out of Luffy’s grinning face. He watches (horrified) as Luffy compliments his food while his mouth is full, but all Sanji can really do if bring him more, offer him more.

He can feel himself getting addicted to having Luffy’s smile directed at him, at the way (for  _ once _ ) there isn't an ache with every breath. He finally understands something for the first time in his life, and it's unspeakably simple.

Love is not always painful. 

-oOo-

  
  


Sanji holds to the side of the bathtub as he tries to empty his lungs. It's the dandelions combined with petunias- they have a lot of leaves, they hurt, they’re persistent. It's 4am and he's exhausted, but he dreamed of the cell again and the blurred faces of his brothers made screeching, terrible noises in his nightmare. He rests his head on the cool porcelain, willing himself to think of Zeff and Luffy. 

The bathroom door opens (he forgot to lock it, how could he be so  _ stupid _ ) and Zoro walks in. He pauses mid-step, eyes widening at what Sanji is sure is an awful state. He doesn't have an explanation for the leaves and petals curled at his knees and hanging off his shirt. Even as he panics another cough takes his attention, and he curls in on himself, a puff of little yellow flowers dropping off his tongue like words. 

There's a hand on his back, large and warm and horrible because it's reassuring. Shame wells up in his gut, pairing well with the burn in his chest. He reaches blindly to turn the tap of the tub on as he spits out something delicate and purple. He keeps his eyes closed as he leans into the touch, furious because he’s gone and exposed such tremendous weakness to Zoro of all people, but relieved because it  _ is  _ Zoro. 

“Cook, is this- are you-

His hushed voice cuts off, as if he can't bring himself to say it out loud. Sanji opens his eyes, looking at him. Zoro doesn't look disgusted or angry, but Sanji isn't sure Zoro knows what’s going on.

“It's fine.” He says, throat dry from coughing. “I’ve got it under control.”

“Bullshit. This is that love disease, isn't it?”

Sanji wants to sink into the floor. He wants to tell Zoro to fuck off, he’s been dealing with flowers in his lungs for more than 10 years, he can handle it. He’ll vomit out stems and leaves and then he’d get up and start breakfast and it'll be  _ fine _ . He doesn't have any other option. 

“Look, it's none of your business, just go  _ away _ .”

He knows his glare is weak, he can only look so convincing while leaning against the side of a tub, pale and shaky. Zoro glares back, all sharp lines and determination. 

“There are cures for this, idiot. I mean, shit, just  _ tell _ the person.”

Sanji gives a flat laugh. As if he hasn't thought about those fucked up ‘cures’ almost everyday of his life. As if he hasn't tortured himself over how impossible one was and how terrible the other one is. 

“My ‘person’ will  _ never _ love me back.”

He can taste the crushed marigolds in his teeth, bitter as anything was. Zoro’s hand is reassuring and kind and it’s awful. He looks at Sanji with something like remorse, maybe pain. 

“Then why wouldn't you do the surgery?”

_ Yes,  _ he thought.  _ Why? Why not?  _ Why, on his knees, crippled by an unloved something, does he continue to hold onto it? He’s argued it over and over in his head so many times, begging the question of  _ why _ does his heart want what it does? Something that isn't even  _ good _ for it? A cocktail of abuse and scorn and cruelty put together to make up the bouquet that chokes out of his lungs on a sometimes daily basis. But maybe that's the disgrace of his heart- the ugliness of what he wants and can't help but wanting. A heart that, despite the clear ease of another path, chooses to throw itself into the flare of ruin. 

A fresh wave of grief catches him as he coughs violently, throat burning as more petals coat his tongue. Zoro holds him steady with his warm hands on his shoulders, and his patience burns like a wound in Sanji. To his horror, he realizes he had started to cry. He closes his eyes, infuriated. He is disgusted at himself, at his own organicness, at his own everything. Nothing in him  _ works _ . Broken (tiny, millions, all of them) everything in him and all piled with things like hate and anger and more hate and a sadness that was too close to cripling at the begining of every fucking day. 

And he  _ wants _ to not be this desperate thing that needs love to survive but never had love in the first place. On an unhealthy sense of love in his corrupted organs, he loves and loves and  _ loves.  _ But he is not loved in return and he’s pretty sure it would be love to kill him in the end.

He starts when suddenly Zoro is holding him. Hands still on his back but somehow Sanji’s face is in Zoro’s shoulder. He feels like his chest is being crushed from all sides, and he chokes on petals and a cut off sob. 

“Stupid cook. Of course you’re the type of romantic moron who would get this disease.”

Sanji sniffs, still coughing. He can't even hope to pretend that Zoro isn't making him feel better, the bastard. He can’t say he ever expected  _ comfort _ from the swordsman, but maybe this was just another way that Zoro protected. He was already committing himself to Sanji’s burdens, and that thought made Sanji’s heart hurt in a way that wasn't as miserable as it usually was. 

He carefully wrapped his own arms around Zoro’s back, securing himself in the safety of the man. 

“Fuck off. I’ll throw up flowers on you.”

Zoro just laughs quietly, his body shaking a little with it. He’s warm all around Sanji, and he doesn't resist leaning into Zoro’s shoulder, letting the warmth carry him. He’s sure things will be awkward in about a minute, and they’ll never talk about this again maybe, but for now there is a specific sweetness to being held by someone like Zoro, who is trustworthy and surprisingly gentle. 

“You should let Chopper take a look at least. He should know.”

Sanji can hear the rumble of Zoro’s voice with his ear so close to his neck. He mumbles his response into the tattered white shirt that smells overdue for a wash. 

“Chopper knows. Not much he can do though.”

Zoro’s palms press into Sanji’s back. He radiates displeasure. 

“Maybe Luffy-

Sanji pushes back quickly, putting space between them. He puts his hands on Zoro’s shoulders, gripping hard as he fixes him with a firm look. 

“Do  _ not _ tell Luffy. He can't know, Zoro.”

Zoro looks at him wide-eyed. Sanji doesn't know what Zoro’s thinking, but he only half cares, heart beating anxiously at the idea of Luffy knowing. Eager, hopeful Luffy, finding out that Sanji is broken somehow and deciding there needs to be a way to fix it. Sanji can see Luffy demanding to meet the Vinsmoke, demanding to know why they won't love Sanji, or worse- Luffy seeing Sanji for the unlovable person he is. And Sanji  _ needs _ Luffy and his affection. He’s pretty sure Luffy is the reason why he hasn't suffocated by now. 

“...Fine. I won't tell him.”

Sanji sighs heavily. He knows he can take Zoro for his word, and he feels safe with that knowledge. 

“Thank you.” 

He says it with meaning, then he gets up, grabbing the mop by the door to start cleaning up his mess. Zoro gets up too, extending his hand to Sanji. 

“I’ll do it, you need to start breakfast, right?”

Sanji feels another wave of gratitude for the swordsman, passing him the mop with a nod. His chest feels a tiny bit lighter, the coughing having subsided. He gives Zoro a tired smile, wanting to say something but not knowing what to say. These are the things that he has learned with Luffy, his giving of affection, but it's still new and he doesn't know how to do that for Zoro. 

Zoro looks at him steadily, holding his gaze as if to say  _ things will resolve _ . Sanji is reminded that it's not just Luffy that makes the disease bearable.

  
  



	3. Tulips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He stares at the flower in his fist, and it's horrible because it's not. There is a sweetness to loving Sanji that Zoro had never imagined he’d like. There is an exhausting pleasure to loving someone who is already in love.

-oOo-

  
  


Zoro thinks that if the heart is a muscle, he should be able to train it. He should, in his opinion, be in complete control over everything regarding his body, and yet. 

Sanji has a way of getting under his skin in a way that’s intimate and at the same time violent. He’s a good fighter, which Zoro appreciates, but he wears his heart on his sleeve (and his chest and eyes and every visible surface, really) and Zoro doesn't  _ want _ to like him like he does. He really likes what he has with the cook. It's easy and simple- until it's not. 

He sees Sanji on his knees with flowers on his lips and it should have been obvious. It should have been a clear cut image from day one that the love-cook would end up suffering from the most bullshit form of romantic tragedy. It was right there, in Sanji’s honest, soft smile- that his love was plentiful but his heart was taken. 

He promises not to tell Luffy because that's obvious too. 

He’s watched Sanji since Arlong Park and he’s seen the way he gravitates to their captain’s side. It was easy to pass it off as admiration (Luffy is profound and larger than life) but the consistency of Sanji’s focused looks, of his far away eyes that settle on Luffy every time, the gentleness of his smile. It's beautiful because Sanji is oddly beautiful, and it's painful for Zoro but it's also undeniably love. Now it's there in the form of drying petals on the bathroom floor, and Zoro is stuck somewhere in between heartache and frustration. 

-oOo-

A few days later there's a battle, if it can even be called that. 

They've just left Alabaster and gained a member (questionably trustworthy, but strong nonetheless), and the rival pirates are weak to begin with. Zoro cuts through a man and watches Sanji kick someone overboard and then he looks over, smiles at Zoro and-

He doesn't believe it, because as much as he’s sure the universe  _ hates _ him, it can't hate him on such a ridiculous level. The fucking joke of it alone was almost too much. So turns around, stabs two men at once, and swallows something in his throat. 

The fight ends and he finds Chopper. The doctor opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong at the same time as Zoro pulls a rose bud from his mouth. Chopper stares. 

“Right. That is, exceptionally rare.”

Zoro tosses the bud in Chopper’s medical waste bin, then proceeds to lean over it and cough violently. Five more rose buds join the first, soft little pink things that match the shade of Sanji’s cheeks. He raises his head to look at Chopper. 

“Which part?” He pants. “The fact that I have the stupidest disease in the world, or that you have two patients with it?”

Chopper averts his gaze, biting his lip. Something pricks Zoro’s soft palate, and he spits a thorn into his hand.

-oOo-

  
  


The next day he watches the way Sanji smiles at Luffy, gentle and unimaginably bright. The sun has made his cheeks flushed, and Zoro remembers the rosebuds. He runs to the bathroom, already feeling something climbing up his throat. 

A tulip this time, crumpled but a brilliant yellow. He stares at it, coughs some more and then grabs it to throw away. 

Yesterday Chopper had recounted the two options Zoro had. There was no chance of reciprocation from the cook, not when he was so clearly (and with physical flowery proof) in love with Luffy, which he carefully told Chopper without naming the source of his unwanted feelings. The second option was the surgery.

Zoro didn't even consider it an option. His first thought was the fear that removing the plants would make it impossible for him to care about the cook even as his nakama. He couldn't imagine days where he didn't bicker and annoy Sanji, and if he lost him as a sparring partner he’d probably go crazy. And then there were the things about Sanji that gave Zoro joy, things that, devoid of strong emotion, might mean nothing. The smile the cook gave him when he asked for a second helping, the fiery look in his eyes during a fight, the gentless in his tone when he talked about All Blue- the list went on. All that wasn't even considering the fact that, beside the burning, aching pain or not, he simply loved Sanji, and loved loving him. 

He stares at the flower in his fist, and it's horrible because it's  _ not _ . There is a sweetness to loving Sanji that Zoro had never imagined he’d like. There is an exhausting pleasure to loving someone who is already in love. Or maybe Zoro is just that much of a masochist. All he knows is that without his love ever being reciprocated, and without the surgery, his future looks very short.

-oOo-

Water 7 happens, and Zoro watches as Sanji visibly agonizes over Luffy and Usopp’s fight. 

It's strange to have his perspective, of his knowing about Sanji’s love for Luffy while also being in love with Sanji. He is crushed by two equal weights, one made up of his desire for Sanji’s happiness, the other for his desire to be the one making Sanji happy. 

Zoro sees Sanji retreat to the galley with his hand over his mouth, and it's like a punch to his chest. He imagines the flowers that Sanji will stuff down the drain, and so he grabs Luffy by the shoulder and says  _ do not falter.  _ He has to be strong, as a captain, yes, but  _ please _ , he wants to say,  _ please, Luffy, for Sanji. _ Be there for him because it can't be me, it has to be you. Please, Luffy, just look at him while he’s looking at you and you’ll understand. You can love him back and then it will be ok, and I won't be ok but so what. 

He can't say any of that though, because he made a promise. So he fights a god damn giraffe and Sanji fights a wolf and they get Robin back and a guy who should really invest in pants. Sanji grins like a loon with dried blood on his face, and Zoro has never wanted to kiss anyone more in his entire life. 

-oOo-

  
  


“Please take my life instead of Luffy’s!”

It's all he can offer, not equal in value, not even  _ close _ , but he is determined to make this sacrifice. Luffy has to live because Luffy will become the king of pirates, and Zoro is fated to a death by the hanahaki anyways. And he has his own love of Luffy, his own pride in following the man, his utter devotion to the person who will eventually give Sanji his rightful love. It's not a hard decision to make, it's barely even a math problem where his subtraction is only a single, meaningless thing. Kuma will kill him and he will beg for Kuina’s forgiveness on the other side, wherever that may be. 

“Wait, wait, you damn bastard!”

Zoro watches Sanji stumble his way forward with open horror. The blonde can barely stand, shakes with every cautious breath, and Zoro has the immense, cruel desire to hold him then. He wants to beg Sanji, to say  _ for once, don't be strong _ . Sanji could rest right there beside Luffy, and when they woke up Zoro would be gone and it would be ok. 

So Sanji falls by Zoro’s hand, and Zoro leaves him there with his swords and with Luffy and with his heart. He is sorry because his love will be seen as harsh, and he will never get a chance to let it be kind. 

  
  


-oOo-

  
  


He coughs out a smattering of red and white petals, dotting Luffy’s picture in the news. Perona gapes at him, dropping the second roll of bandages she brought in. 

“Well, Shit.” She says. 

_ Story of my fucking life,  _ Zoro thinks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still gotta finish the last bit of the next chapter will post soon!


	4. Marigolds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He reads his name, his birth name on the wedding list, and some long-settled pain in his chest flares up to a point of disaster.

  
  
  


Mermaid island is a dream come true for Sanji, but somehow it's Punk Hazard that's even better. 

For many obvious reasons, being Nami is  _ awesome _ . For a main one though, he finally remembers what it's like to  _ not be choking on flowers all the time _ . It’s like he's 300 pounds lighter and he doesn't have to bother will all the constant throat clearing shit. He glances at Chopper (in his fucked up body, the poor guy) and winces. Maybe the little guy can just,  _ will  _ away the roots while he’s stuck in his body. 

Once he’s back to his unfortunate self, he approaches their new ally, Mr. creepy-with-a-stick-up-his-ass. 

“So, your devil fruit let you remove  _ anything _ from the body? Like, say, disease?”

Law visibly tenses, eyeing Sanji suspiciously. Sanji does his best to look casual, not too keen on the idea of possible decapitation. Law just gives him a single nod in the affirmative, and Sanji brightens. 

“So then you could take out flower roots?”

Recognition passes over Law’s face, and he visibly relaxes. He takes a small step forward, no longer clutching his giant swords like he wants to use it. 

“You suffer from the unrequited love disease, blackleg-ya?”

Sanji winces. Sure, that was what it was but he didn't need to say it quite so honestly. 

“Yeah, was kinda hoping you could help me out with it.”

Law nods, gesturing for them both to sit on the large rocks. 

“Of course, although I had gathered that your own physician was more than capable of performing the surgery himself.”

Sanji frowns at the man. He isn't looking for surgery, he’s looking for some very specific devil fruit usage. 

“No, I don't want the surgery, I just want the plants and the roots out while still keeping my feelings.”

There’s a long, telling pause before Law sighs. Sanji slumps, closing his eyes to the news he knows he’s about to get. 

“Blackleg-ya, the roots cannot be removed without also removing the tied emotions. Different methods of removal do not differentiate the outcome.”

He stares at his hands for a while, exhausted all over again. If there ever was a roundabout cure for what he had, that would’ve been it. 

“However, I  _ am _ able to remove part of the flora. The stems and buds can be taken out without disturbing the roots. They’ll grow back of course, and it is in no way a true solution, but I’ve found it can be...a short term convenience.”

Sanji drags his fingers through his hair, looking at Law again. Not a cure by a long ways, but god damn, it's better than nothing. 

“Yeah. Go ahead, cut the fuckers down.”

Knowing his luck, they’d be back fully grown in a week.

  
  


-oOo-

He secretly hates it on Zou. Not the people or the giant-elephant-whatever, but just the fact that he and Nami and Chopper and Brook are separated from the others. It’s like those horrible two years where a part of him had been ripped out so violently, and he’s back to gagging on petals everyday. Plooms of purple and white all around him, fragrance sticking to his skin and making him feel sick. 

He reads his name, his  _ birth  _ name on the wedding list, and some long-settled pain in his chest flares up to a point of disaster. He coughs right then and there in front of everyone, scattering charred pink blossoms on the floor, on his shirt. Nami and Chopper call out his name, but he’s lost this battle a long, long time ago. 

-oOo-

(They are still cruel, and he is still hopeless. He vomits hyacinths and daisies until he’s coughing up blood.)

-oOo-

  
  


He’s surprised when Nami cries out after him, after he’s done a shame that can never be forgiven, left Luffy beaten and bloody. 

“But you’re in love with someone already!”

His steps falter, only for a second though. She’ll never know the truth about where his un-love begins and where it doesn't end, but neither does anyone else. In all his years alive, no one, not even Zeff knew the history of his disease. It’s always easy to carry on pretending that somewhere there is a person waiting and capable of giving him the love required to cure him, but that's because it's an assurance to everyone but him. He is not broken in a clean way, and even if he ever could put himself back together, the parts would never work right. 

So he leaves them there, wiping dead petals from his mouth. 

-oOo-

  
  


He’s not surprised by Pudding’s betrayal. Or, he is, but not so much that it matters. He’s known on some level that he’s going to die either at the wedding or just after, maybe even within the next hour. He can barely get a full inhale without coughing, and the petals come out wet with blood. There isn't room in his lungs for anything else to grow, and still the plants grow. 

Reiju looks at Sanji, and he looks at her wounded leg. He struggles to swallow down the flowers that bloom specifically to her, like an echo from their mother. 

“May I ask who your flowers are for?”

Sanji looks out the window, nausea rolling in his stomach. The picnic basket sits by his side like a bomb ready to go off. 

“Does it matter? We’ll be dead soon.”

Which is true. He has no expectation of any of them surviving the wedding anymore, and despite everything Reiju has told him, he’s only that much closer to his own death anyways. He’s not comforted by the fact that they’ll all die together.

She just nods, easy. He wonders if she retains any semblance of fear, or maybe it's mostly an act she’s perfected. 

“I’m sorry, Sanji.”

_ Sorry for what? Sorry for the disease? The wedding? My existence?  _ Sanji laughs bitterly. He can feel tears well up and he blinks them back. He leans forward as he’s hit with a sudden choking spasm, arms trembling as he grips the side of his chair. He makes ugly retching noises as he struggles to breathe. He can smell the lilies on his tongue. 

“It’s not your fault.” He wheezes. 

It’s not entirely a lie.

-oOo-

  
  


Luffy looks like shit, but he still smiles through his missing teeth and Sanji thinks of sunflowers. He watches Luffy eat the water-soaked food, spewing out compliments while his mouth is full, and Sanji thinks  _ this is how I’m going to die.  _

Because he knows what the plants first sprouted for, and he knows what they grow for now, but is it so wrong to still love? If his body can’t forgive him for continuing to love more and more people in countless ways, can his heart at least show  _ some _ sympathy? He loves people who don't love him, yes, but what about the people that have offered him up affection throughout his life? He loves Luffy, and he loves his nakama, and he’s been given love and it's never been something that weighs him down. 

He pulls Luffy into his arms and presses a barely-there kiss to his brow, a flower blossoming under his tongue and then falling out into Luffy’s lap. Luffy picks it up, small purple petals damp and dirty. 

“It’s pretty.” 

Sanji chokes back something else, a sob still bubbling up. He leans back, covering his face as the tears start to fall. 

“It means ‘goodbye’.” 

The thunder clouds rumble distantly. Between the crying and the flowers, Sanji can barely get the air in his body, and it  _ hurts _ . It’s always hurt, but he’s tired of the hurt and he's tired of the source and he’s tired of everything at this point. 

“And that’s what you want, Sanji?”

No, of course that's not what he wants. But he has always wanted what he can't have, and he’s lived with that for so long, and it’s not different now. His breathing makes whistling noises, the air moving around through the crowded plant life inside of him. He spits out more petals to hide another sob. 

“Luffy, I’m not- I  _ can't-  _

There's a burst of something in him, and he gags on the influx of sudden flower heads. He grabs at his own chest, desperate. 

Luffy puts his hands on his shoulders, and Sanji looks up at him even as he struggles to inhale around the leaves. 

“If you go back to them and get married, will the flowers go away?”

Sanji closes his eyes for a moment, opens them again and whispers. 

“ _ No _ .”

This is the part he’s always been afraid of, the part where Luffy will finally look at him and see how much of a lost cause he is. Luffy will be able to see all the cracks and the undesirables, and then Luffy will finally push him away and let him suffocate in the dirt. 

Luffy just looks at him steadily, his hands warm. 

“Then tell me what you want, Sanji. You have to  _ say  _ it!”

_ But I want too much, you don't understand.  _ He cries, making his small choking sounds as he works his throat to sound.  _ I don't know what I want, I have never known what I’ve wanted, only that I want to be  _ loved.  _ I want to be where love is, and I want to be a part of a love that doesn't hurt. Luffy _ , he wants to scream,  _ Luffy, I want the family you’ve made of us. _

“I want to go back to Sunny!”

Petals drop from his lips, and the stems recede down his throat in gentle retreat. He inhales, not easily, but it's  _ easier _ . 

-oOo-

  
  


He grabs the front of Judges shirt, and pulls him down. 

There is a volcano erupting inside of him, lava in his blood and fire in his bones and he has never burned like this before. He feels every twist of every stem and he feels the  _ roots _ , he feels the  _ tear _ . An enormous burst of pain and euphoria so glorious he doesn't understand how he’s standing, and then,  _ finally _ , he  _ breathes.  _

He can taste them all. They have fallen on his tongue so many times by now and he knows them, he  _ knows  _ these flowers being crushed and burned and bitten off. He grinds them in his teeth, isn't remorseful as they die, falling away to be a part of his body and then not. The peonies for his shame, the petunias for resentment, the primroses for his inability to live his damn life. The camellias for longing, the carnations for his heartache, the daisies for his lost innocence. The geraniums for his foolishness, the dandelions for the faithfulness of that foolishness. The gardenias for his secrecy, the heather for his solitude, the hyacinths for the constant sorrow. The holly for a defence he never had, the hydrangeas for their heartlessness. The ever present marigolds for the past cruelty and his constant grief. 

And the most well known, kissing the roof of his mouth in a final goodbye, in a gentle wish. His forget-me-nots, for memories. 

They evaporate in the heat of his body and he feels like he’s swallowing ash. He is weighless with the emptiness in his lungs, with the nothiness left in him. There are ghosts of flowers twisted around his spine, his ankles, his wrists. They have grown behind his eyes and in his ears and he’s breathed with them for so long now. And they had been beautiful, but their beauty had been wedded to something ugly, and their fate had only ever been to die. 

He looks at Judge, a man who has never been a real father, let alone  _ his _ , and the last stem breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just editing the zosan happy ending up next! will post soon


	5. Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a scattering of little blue flowers all around him, paired with a single orchid at his feet.   
> He hates when the flowers resemble Sanji. When they are yellow like his hair, bright like his smile, or when, like the orchid, they presented so elegantly.

Zoro sits in the corner room, hoping for once that Luffy will know to leave him alone. He’s sure all the others will, he’s given off enough scowls that the message of _go away_ is clear. They can celebrate their victories in Wano without him. He hasn't slept in days, his wounds hurt, his chest is on fire, and he needs quiet and solitude. 

There is a scattering of little blue flowers all around him, paired with a single orchid at his feet. 

He hates when the flowers resemble Sanji. When they are yellow like his hair, bright like his smile, or when, like the orchid, they presented so elegantly. Blue flowers were the worst, reminding Zoro of Sanji’s eyes, or his many blue ties, or even just his obsession with the ocean. Blue is Sanji’s  _ color _ . 

A shadow moves behind the rice paper frame that separates him from the hallway, and then there’s a gentle tap.

“Marimo?”

Zoro clamps a hand over his mouth, silencing the cough as petals immediately pile on his tongue. He grabs a blanket from the ground, holding it to his mouth. He begins to feel the all-too-familiar sting of rose thorns, conjured so easily by Sanji’s softened voice. 

“I know you’re in there, and I know you’re pissed at me. Real mature, by the way, with the whole ‘silent treatment’.”

Zoro growls, the best he can give as an answer. He bites down hard on the bud of something, crushing it. 

“Look, you don't have to talk to me. I get it, I did a fucked up thing and I don't deserve shit. If Luffy hadn’t done what he did, well. I sure as hell don't deserve a captain like Luffy, that's for sure.”

Zoro leaned his head against the wall, closing his eye. Rose petals had somehow gotten all over his robe, adding to the mess on the floor as well. He can hear the fondness in Sanji’s voice when he says Luffy’s name. It shoots something like a bullet in Zoro’s chest. 

He isn't blind. He’d been watching Sanji so closely, at first so overjoyed to just  _ see _ him and then worried he would disappear if Zoro so much as blinked. He’s been attached to Luffy at the hip, noticeably doting on him more than usual with the closeness, with the hair ruffling and shoulder touching and unlimited snacks. He’s been so focused on nothing  _ but _ Luffy that Zoro was able to stare openly at the overwhelming affection pouring off the cook towards their captain. 

Sanji hasn’t so much as cleared his throat in weeks. Not a single cough. He hasn't disappeared with Chopper at any point, he hasn't run off somewhere for no reason, hasn't had even a hint of pollen on his clothes. Sanji is cured, and Zoro knows what that means because now Zoro knows he, himself, never can be. 

Because Luffy must have returned the cook’s love, and now they’ll have something great, and it  _ is _ great. It has to be great, because Sanji looks  _ happy _ , and Luffy is happy, and so why shouldn't Zoro be happy for them? He’s always wanted Sanji to be happy, so so what if it's not Zoro who makes him happy? Luffy will protect him and cherish him and will smile his giant Luffy smile, and Zoro can't hate that. He will live and die by the love Sanji can't return to him because it's ok. As long as Sanji is happy, it's ok. 

It hurts of course though. Excruciatingly, vividly so. 

“But anyways, I owe you an apology. I really want you to know that I’m sorry, and I’m not gonna leave ever again. I’ve pledged myself to Luffy, and that means I’ve pledged myself to the crew too. I’m a strawhat for life.”

Zoro coughs quietly into the blanket, pulling it back to look at the little thorns mixed with the red petals. For all he knew he had bled on the flower and it had once been white. He clears his throat as best he can, looking over at the clear-cut shadow on the other side. 

“Cook-

He cuts himself off, struggling to swallow another ride of blossoms. His eyes water from the sting, but he pushes the words out through the need to know. 

“Are you happy? With Luffy?”

Silence on the other side. Sanji’s shadow moves minutely, and Zoro looks back at the orchid on the ground.  _ Elegant _ . 

“...as my captain? Of course. How could I not be?”

Zoro growls again, fist thumping on the floor. 

“No, I mean. Now that you’re  _ cured _ .”

He doesn't mean to sound bitter. There is genuine happiness for Sanji in him, he’s sure, but at that moment there’s only the broken heart. That, and the plants that thrive on it, closing in for the kill probably. 

Sanji gives a low chuckle, the shadow of his shoulders moving up and down. 

“So you noticed, huh? Yeah, 14 years of hacking up flowers and suddenly I figure it all out. Shits crazy. But we’re all a bunch of crazy assholes, especially Luffy.”

Zoro’s face scrunches up in confusion. Sanji had joined after Usopp, so he’s only known Luffy for around 3 years. 

“14 years is a hell of an exaggeration, shit-cook.”

Zoro can see the moment Sanji bristles just like a cat through his profile. He smiles to himself regardless of the ache. 

“Fuck you, I’m not exagerating! I was coughing up those shitty plants since I was like, 7 or something. I bet I could make a damn case study.”

Zoro tries to make sense of those words. If Sanji had been 7...but he hadn't known Luffy? But kids don't- or they’re not  _ supposed _ to get the disease. Or they can, but that was-

There had been cases before, about children. Zoro had heard about them, about the orphans in his village dying for a love they only half remembered, for a parent that had left them in one way or another. 

Zoro feels something inside him weaken at the image Sanji paints. 

“....your family.”   
  


There is a jerking motion and then a thump on the other side of the door, probably Sanji kicking something. 

“Those people,” He says sternly. “Are not my family.”

They’re both quiet then. Sanji’s lighter clicks, and Zoro can smell the tobacco faintly. He is overwhelmed with the things this news brings, with the uncomprehending mix of sorrow and joy and guilt and  _ hope _ . The overpowering love above all else. Of course Sanji wouldn't receive the kind of love he deserved from a bunch of psychotic super villains. But then, without their love-

“Then how are you cured?”

It occurs to him then, that maybe Sanji won't tell him. That Sanji doesn't owe him an answer, because as he said so long ago, it isn't Zoro’s business. He can love Sanji and be desperately, hopelessly in love with him, but what Zoro has for Sanji still might not ever be what Sanji has for Zoro. He feels something in the back of his throat, settling in his mouth and he plucks out a folded azalea. 

Sanji’s soft voice comes out hushed and clear. 

“You know, it's stupid, but this whole time I think I was just looking for a type of love in the wrong place from the wrong people. Because the disease is about love but maybe it's really about being loved in the right way. Or, I don't know. Everyone puts so much emphasis on being loved back to be cured, but what's supposed to happen if the one or two or five people you love can  _ never _ love you? You’re just supposed to die because your heart wants the wrong thing? I mean, that's bullshit. Why should everything depend on who loves you when it's really about who  _ you  _ love?”

He sighs, an enormous exhale behind the rice paper. Zoro listens quietly, heart beating against his ribs in a steady, deep way. 

“I guess what I’m saying is, you can't really choose or decide who loves you, but you  _ can  _ choose who to love on some level. There has to be a choice, because I’m- I  _ am _ loved, I can say that now. I have a family giving me that love, I just had to realize that  _ this _ is where that family is, and  _ these  _ are the people I love.”

Zoro rises from his spot on the floor, footsteps dusting over crumpled petals of red and pink and white. His hand grips the edge of the door, and he slides it open wide. 

Sanji is leaning against the wall, hair a mess of different attempts to deal with the length. He looks exhausted, but with a deep set contentment in his eyes that makes him glow. He has a cautious twist in his brow, but then his eyes flick to the room behind Zoro, growing large. 

He stares, wide-eyed at the covered floor. Zoro looks over his own shoulder, taking in the array of colors, the stepped-on stems, the mess of unmatching leaves. There are either flowers or petals or unbloomed little buds over just about every surface, lying there as plain evidence. Zoro can feel eyes on him again, and looks back to Sanji evenly. He can still feel the tickle of the plants in his lungs, begging at him. 

“And what if I don't want to choose anyone else? What if who my heart wants is who I want to love, and that’s it?”

His throat is so sore, and he hasn't thought about it but his lips might be bloody from the roses. Sanji’s wide eyes stare at him incredulously. 

“Zoro, these flowers…”

Zoro takes as deep a breath as he can. 

“For you.” He says.  _ My heart, my love, my everything-  _ “All for you.”

There's a quiet in the air mixed with the scent of the flowers, and Zoro can't look away from Sanji’s eyes. How had he forgotten how beautiful they were? They crinkle at the edges, and Zoro realizes it’s because Sanji is  _ smiling _ . He looks at Zoro in a way that makes him think of sunshine and afternoon onigiri and warm-hearted teasing. 

A gentle thumb brushes over Zoro’s bottom lip, and Sanji pulls it away, showing the tiny blue flower. 

“Do you know what these mean?”

Zoro doesn't. He shakes his head, leaning in towards Sanji, watching him as Sanji watches him back through long, pale lashes. Sanji brings the flower to his own lips. 

“Forget-me-nots. For memory, but also for true and undying love.”

Zoro makes a low hum of agreement, his forehead meeting to touch Sanji’s. Their nones bump, and he eases his voice into a barely-there whisper. 

“I have more, if you want them.”

Sanji doesn't answer. He kisses Zoro with a feather-light brush of his lips, so gentle and sweet Zoro thinks he might be dreaming it. There is a slow feeling of his chest swelling followed by the sensation of swallowing honey. The ache in his throat leaves, the burn in his lungs disappears, and he shudders. Sanji’s fingers run up his neck and hold his jaw delicately, grounding him. He can still taste blood and petals in his mouth, but it's distant compared to the honey-sweetness of Sanji’s kiss. 

He opens his one eye, basking in the lightness that surrounds him. He isn't sure he can move. Sanji’s fingertips brush over his lips again, his blue eyes fixed on Zoro.

“You taste like blood.”

Zoro kisses the finger on his lips, still reeling. 

“Rose thorns.” He replies. 

Sanji makes an  _ ah  _ sound. Zoro takes his hand, adding kisses to the rest of the fingers and moving his way down, pressing his lips to the soft skin on the inside of his wrist. He can feel Sanji’s blush from the little distance between them. Sanji clears his throat. 

“I love you.” He says in a slightly cracked voice. “And I’m still getting used to the whole ‘being loved’ thing, but don't even think that you're not loved in return.”

Zoro looks him in the eye, leaning back into his space. And Zoro can feel it- can feel the proof of that love in his empty lungs, in his warm chest. 

“I’m- same. Same to you, cook.”

Sanji gives him a soft smile, the one Zoro had secretly always wanted. Zoro’s heart stutters in his chest at the love fully directed at him. Sanji kisses his cheek, letting his lips linger on the warm skin. He moves his arms to wrap around Zoro’s shoulders, holding him close just as Zoro fits his hands to Sanji’s back. The  _ I love you too _ unfurls on Zoro’s lips like a bloom.

They kiss again, and it's a little bloody and there are flowers dying at their feet, but it's perfect. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big shout out to Dee (donutsandcoffee) for having such a galaxy brain and literally creating the idea of Sanji having the disease for his family. thank you everyone and thanks for the patience since I couldnt post this all at once!


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